


Stumbling

by Lefaym



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-17
Updated: 2008-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefaym/pseuds/Lefaym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Countrycide: Ianto is stumbling, and Jack tries to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stumbling

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to jo02 and such_heights on LJ for the beta.

"Think you'll be okay?"

A barely perceptible nod. "I'll be fine, sir."

Jack opened his mouth to suggest otherwise, but a steely glint in Ianto's eyes—reflected in the rear view mirror— changed his mind. "I'll see you on Thursday then."

The nod again. Jack heard a click as the seatbelt released, followed by one of the back doors opening, and the brush of fabric across the leather seat covering. When the door swung shut again, Jack sat back to wait.

That Ianto made it as far as he did was impressive in itself. He was past the low brick fence, down the path, and almost to the top of the small flight of stairs out front of the flats, before he stumbled. He was still clinging to the railing, trying to keep himself steady, when Jack reached him and took hold of him beneath the arm.

Ianto looked up at him, and for a moment, that warning glint returned—anger, and defiance, and something else—before he turned his head away. "Fuck off, Jack."

Jack bent down and draped Ianto's arm around his shoulders. "You're exhausted," he said. "Just let me help you inside, okay?"

Ianto froze for a moment, but then he leaned into Jack slightly, allowing the other man to take part of his weight as he stood up. Even in the twilight, Jack could see the bruise on his forehead, and he knew that there were other bruises too, hidden beneath Ianto's clothing. It was probably causing him pain just to stand like that, with his body listing against someone else, but he gave no sign of it, other than a small, almost imperceptible grimace, and that could mean anything.

"Number six, right?" Jack asked.

"On the first landing."

Jack knew that he should have been here before now. He'd meant to go, but then he'd sent Tosh and Gwen instead, telling himself that he was still too angry, still too—too hurt? Jealous? Or maybe he just didn't want to admit that his lover (former lover) had made him feel a fool. Whatever it was, Jack had always managed to find an excuse to avoid visiting, and then Ianto had been back at work, settling into the background again, the same as he had before. Except that now, Ianto went tense if Jack touched him, even by accident.

He wasn't tense now, at least, although Jack thought that had more to do with fatigue than forgiveness. When they reached the landing, Ianto produced a key from his pocket and unlocked the door with fumbling hands. It creaked as it opened, and although Ianto shifted, taking more of his own weight, Jack didn't withdraw his support.

"Let's find you a seat," Jack muttered when they were inside, the door closed behind them.

Ianto shook his head.

"Bed?"

"I think—I think I'm going to be sick." He straightened, and in a sudden burst of strength, he dashed across the hall and through a door that, Jack assumed, led to the bathroom.

He was already on his knees, retching into the toilet by the time Jack caught up with him. The pungent odour of coffee mixed with sour bile filled the air. There was only liquid in his stomach; Ianto hadn't eaten since before they'd set up camp. Jack turned on the light, and then hesitated a moment before reaching down and running his fingers through Ianto's hair. He whispered quiet words of comfort as the younger man heaved and choked; Ianto shuddered in what must have been agony as his bruised ribs were forced to expand and contract in ragged bursts.

Finally, Ianto slumped backwards against the side of the bathtub, wiping his mouth and eyes with a handtowel. His face twisted in distaste, but he didn't say anything.

Jack filled a clean glass that stood on the sink beside the toothbrush stand, and handed it down to Ianto; he took it silently, but not ungratefully. After a rinse and a few sips, his breathing became even, and his face, while still pale, lost its greenish cast. Jack leaned against the sink while he waited, and when Ianto finally looked up at him, Jack straightened and extended his arm.

Ianto left the glass on a shelf beside the bath and took Jack's hand, trying to pull himself up. He got half way before sinking back down onto the edge of the tub.

"You need sleep," Jack told him.

Ianto nodded— not curtly, as he had before, but with an air of resignation. Jack bent down and lifted Ianto's arm around his shoulders again; this time, he managed to stand.

"Come on," Jack murmured. He gestured towards the door, but Ianto didn't seem inclined to move.

"I need... uh, I need..." Ianto's voice trailed off.

"What is it?"

"I need to pee." Colour rose in Ianto's face.

"Do you need any help?" Jack was careful to keep his voice completely neutral, as though he was offering assistance cataloguing alien artefacts.

Ianto shook his head. "I'd rather... be on my own."

"I don't want you to pass out and split your head open. I'd have to call Owen to stitch you up, and I really don't think he'd appreciate that right now."

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Jack... I'll be all right. Promise." He moved away from Jack's supporting arm, proving that he could stand—albeit shakily—on his own.

"I'll wait in the hall."

Jack listened anxiously from outside the closed bathroom door, ready to go back in if he heard the sound of a body hitting the floor. He sighed with relief when he heard the toilet flush, followed by water running from the tap, and the whirr of an electric toothbrush.

When Ianto emerged, he seemed to be slightly steadier than before, although Jack still took him gently by the arm, just in case. Ianto led him into a small bedroom, and then sat carefully on the end of the rickety double bed that covered most of the floor.

"I've, uh, there's some pyjamas in the wardrobe, on the second shelf."

Jack nodded. "Okay."

Jack retrieved the soft cotton garments, and turned to find Ianto struggling to rid himself of his black T-shirt, wincing as he attempted to move his bruised shoulder. Jack came up beside him silently, and helped lift the shirt over his head. Ianto replaced it with the pyjama top—the button down shirt required less flexibility—and then stood to remove his holster and unbuckle his jeans.

Jack looked away, suppressing a surge of both arousal and ire, as he was assaulted by the memory of those legs wrapped around his waist while their faces pressed close, with something that Jack had mistaken for desire in Ianto's eyes. And maybe there had been some desire—there had been no mistaking his physical responses, at least—but Jack couldn't help but wonder now how much resentment or disdain for what they were doing had been hidden behind that spark. And he wondered how much he had missed simply because he'd accepted it as inevitable that the cute boy in the suit, who had pursued him so relentlessly, would fall into his bed (or, more accurately, onto his desk) at some point?

The rustle of sheets pulled Jack out of his reverie. He looked up to find Ianto sitting up on his mattress, a blanket covering his legs.

"I should go."

Ianto nodded, and Jack turned, but then—

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"I, um..." Ianto's voice trailed off.

"What is it?" When Ianto didn't respond, Jack sat on the edge of the mattress, so that their eyes were level. "You okay?"

"I'm... sorry. About before."

"Sorry?"

"For telling you to fuck off."

"You're tired. It's been a rough day." That was something of an understatement.

"I was thinking about L—things, and I—I still get angry. But... I'm sorry too, now." Ianto dropped his gaze to his hands, avoiding Jack's eyes. "I thought you should know."

Jack smoothed a hand over Ianto's hair. "It's okay. I—" Jack paused, wondering whether he should share this with him. "I feel the same way."

Ianto turned his head towards him then, leaning forwards slightly. For a moment, Jack thought that Ianto was going to kiss him, but then he turned away again, sinking down into his pillows.

"You're angry right now?" Ianto asked softly.

Jack nodded. "A little bit."

"You hide it well."

"Most of the time," Jack agreed. "So do you."

"Maybe we shouldn't."

"Maybe." Jack sighed, but that quickly turned to a grin as a wicked thought seized him. "We could always try spanking each other."

Ianto's eyes opened wide, and Jack wondered if it was too soon to make a joke like that. But then the corners of Ianto's mouth lifted, and he laughed—a real, proper laugh, which was something Jack hadn't heard from him since before... well, since before.

"I'm too sleepy," Ianto said, wincing a bit, when his short burst of laughter ended. "Wouldn't learn anything," he added groggily, moving carefully down under the blankets.

"No, you probably wouldn't," Jack teased. "Now get some sleep."

"If you say so, sir," said Ianto, closing his eyes. And then, almost inaudibly: "'Night, Jack."

"Goodnight, Ianto."

Jack sat on the side of the bed until he heard Ianto's breathing become slow and even. When he was satisfied that Ianto was asleep, Jack made his way to the small kitchen, ran a glass of water, and found a small energy bar in one of the cupboards. As quietly as possible, he returned to Ianto's room, and placed them on the tiny bedside table. Ianto's face was illuminated only by the dim glow of the street light outside, and his chest rose and fell peacefully. God, he looked young like this.

Jack hesitated a moment, and then brought his lips softly to Ianto's forehead, brushing them lightly across the small patch of pale skin unmarred by bruising. Ianto murmured something incomprehensible, but he didn't wake up.

As he quietly left the flat, Jack realised that Ianto hadn't flinched at his touch the entire time he'd been inside. And when he reached the SUV he realised that—in spite of everything—he was smiling.


End file.
